


Truth lies open to all with open eyes

by RiverWitch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-07 02:03:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiverWitch/pseuds/RiverWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A student/teacher relationship with a twist… The story is simple enough: the professor falls head over heels for his student, but life has a way of complicating even the simplest of things. So now the professor finds himself in a place where he has to learn how to be more than just an educator.</p><p>So, this is basically an AU story about a student/teacher relationship between Severus Snape and Hermione Granger with a secondary plot that deals with Snape's relationship with Harry (not slash).</p><p>IMPORTANT STORY FACTS:</p><p>-No witches and wizards – all characters are muggles</p><p>-The main setting of the story is Hogwarts and Hogsmeade</p><p>-Snape is sort of OOC</p><p>-All characters are over 18 and some ages had been changed. Main changes are Hermione who is 19 at the beginning of the story and Harry who is 21.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One - "September 1st"

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER:
> 
> All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners, in this case J. K. Rowling. The original characters and plot are mine and mine alone. I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of Harry Potter and I make no money as result of writing and posting this story. No copyright infringement is intended!

****

**Chapter One - "September 1st"**

 **  
**

* * *

_****_

_**~SS~**_

Twenty years…

That's how long it's been since Severus Snape first set foot on these grounds.

At that time, he had been ready, willing, and able to start a new life; one he'd dreamed about and worked hard to create for himself and his family. It was supposed to be a life so different from the one he left behind that, it seemed to belong to somebody else completely.

But he had wanted this new life; strived toward it. He was young then, much too young, and naïve, believing that being here, at the most prestigious school in the country, would be the beginning of his once-upon-a-time-miserable-life finally coming together.

He had thought that he was finally starting live the dream, have it all, leave behind the demons of his childhood and youth; he was going to be happy. It had been a nice dream to have; a nice and fulfilling life to wake up to every morning, a reason to smile, laugh… for a while.

Later, when his world imploded, everything that he took for granted went away and the life that he'd worked so hard to have, ended. It was hell to discover just how easily dreams could turn to nightmares, happiness to misery and lives to ashes.

He knew better than to dream now.

Dreaming was for children, fools, and idiots who lived in fantasy worlds with magic and dragons and happily-ever-afters. Dreams were useless and could only bring heartache, disappointment and harsh realities, cheating spouses and crumbled families. Dreaming is pain and sorrow and madness, and he wasn't a child anymore, nor a fool, nor an idiot, and the only world he lived in was one where magic was nothing but smoke and mirrors, the only dragon worth slaying was loneliness and happily-ever-afters never ended happily.

Severus Snape had walked this same path twenty years ago and had been happy. He felt like he was the luckiest son of a bitch in Britain. He had it all: the perfect job, the perfect wife, and the more than perfect one year old son.

Today, Severus Snape, stood in front of the school's front steps, willing himself to close those last few feet and step into yet another year of academics instead of turning around, and returning to Spinner's End and pretending September was still some months, weeks or at least days away. He was an empty shell: emptied of dreams, life, and family, resigned to the half-existence he now had, hallow, gaunt, and colder than ice itself.

He was too old, too worn, and too miserable, but above all else, especially on this particular September 1st, he was scared shiteless, because no matter how unfeeling he seemed, how hard he was, or how empty he might have become over the last twenty years, Professor Severus Snape, had one weakness and that was the more than perfect one year old son from twenty years ago, turned into a less than perfect twenty-one year old young man. And today, that child - that boy, that man, his son - was coming here, to Hogwarts, for his first year of higher education.

 _My son_ , Severus thought as he pushed opened the doors and walked into the school for the twentieth time on a September 1st.

* * *

_****_

_**~HG~**_

September the 1st was the one day Hermione Granger had been longingly awaiting for months.

"Years" her parents would say. _Your whole life_ , her inner self would add in an excited tone, and now, after months, years, or maybe even an entire lifetime of waiting that day, that wonderful, marvellous, long-awaited day, was finally here and she, Hermione Jean Granger, the biggest bookworm the south of Britain had ever seen, the permanent pain in the arse of every librarian, teacher, or bookshop owner and the one and only pride and joy of Tessa and Sebastian Granger was here, at Hogwarts, the most respectable medical school in the country - her dream school.

Yes, it was one of those boarding schools all her former school mates and almost everybody she knew under the age of forty said sucked and yes, the school was so far away from Salisbury that she'd probably never be able to visit her parents except during the holls and in the summer, but she was okay with that. She'd been okay with many a thing lately and all to be able to come here this year. So being cooped up in a boarding school with hundreds of students she knew nothing about except that they were the best in the country or missing her family nine months a year for the next seven years when compared to the chance - the one in a billion chance - to study under the best professors at the best school in Britain was nothing.

 _Nothing at all_ , her thoughts added as she once again looked up at the magnificent building before her.

It truly was impressive - just to be here, to stay where so many great minds of the last millennium had stayed, and to learn from the greatest professors the world had produced. It made her feel great and small at the same time and for Hermione Granger, there wasn't a greater feeling in the world. Here she would learn - truly learn - and she would have opportunities and chances and resources and…

_Yeah… everything else is nothing compared to this!_

She could - would - get along, or as along as a bookworm can get with the other students while spending the next years of her life within these walls and she could - would - learn to live without her parents by her side; but she was confident that between her classes, her studies and her projects, she would keep busy, and probably make a friend or two. Surely there are others as excited about learning as Hermione was. Hermione promised herself that she could not - WILL NOT - under any circumstances regret, for even a fraction of a second, coming here.

And she truly didn't, she realised as her big, brown eyes contemplated the sight before her. Hundreds of faces both young and old, excited or not so much - swam in front of her eyes. There were redheads and blonds, brunettes and persons with hair dyed in every colour of the rainbow. There was calmness and madness and everything in between and she just loved it all.

She smiled with an excitement she hadn't felt since her first ever day of school and knew - just knew, with a certainty she could barely understand but wouldn't doubt - that here, in this place as far away from home as she could get without actually going abroad, was where she needed to be. This was where she would be the best she could be, where she would achieve her dream, live her life, be happy.

This was home - she was home…

…and she couldn't wait to discover it all.

* * *

_****_

_**~SS~**_

_Lily,_

_I realise I'm a little early this year - months early and years late - but I needed it early this time. I need my yearly fix of pouring out my soul, of laying it down at your feet and I need it more than I need my next breath._

_Our son is starting Hogwarts today…_

_I'm still amazed he's not a chubby toddler running around the house anymore. He's grown, my age when we had him and that scares the crap out of me. When did he get this old? He shouldn't have grown so fast - time shouldn't have hurried like this - he shouldn't be a man now. Wasn't it yesterday that he still had training wheels on his bike? It sure feels like yesterday..._

_Our son is starting Hogwarts today and I don't know what to do. I'm scared. I'm scared he'll hate me for the years I let go on without a proper fight, for you and for everything else I screwed up._

_Did I screw him up, too? I didn't, right? He's okay and well and happy…_

On Hogwarts grounds, inside the Snape residence, in the old nursery turned study a long time ago, Severus Snape took another swig at his bourbon glass emptying it. His midnight black eyes went over what he'd written. He scratched out one or two sentences then took a deep breath and continued.

_Lily… Can you tell me what to do? How to act? How to be there with him, for him? I don't remember how to be a father anymore… I want to - God, I want to - but I can't remember how._

_Does he even want a father? Does he want me? Is he still my son, or have I lost that too? Tell me, Lily, do I still have my little boy? Am I still dad and daddy, or even Severus when he's too mad at the world and me?_

_Am I even in his thoughts anymore? I want to be… He's in mine - he's always in mine._

_He's always there in my dreams…_

_… and today, he'll be here in my reality and that, I have no idea how to handle. Help me, Lily! Tell me what to do! You won't. Even if you read my pleadings, you still wouldn't. I know. I understand - or maybe I just think I do. It doesn't matter._

_Our son is starting Hogwarts today… Wish him luck… Wish me luck…_

_We'll need it._

* * *

_****_

_**~HG~**_

If the train ride up north had been calming and quiet, offering Hermione both the time and the perfect ambience for some pleasure reading, as well as note-taking while skimming this semester's school books, the same couldn't be said for the bus ride from the train station up to the castle - because, yes, Hogwarts' main building was actually a castle! That was why during the craziest twenty five minutes of her life, she inadvertently heard everything from who was the craziest professor, to who was the sternest or the most indulgent one, to something that seemed to be the newest and juiciest gossip of the school - some teacher's long lost son or something coming to Hogwarts for his first year - and details on who was dating whom, who was cheating on whom and who was to be this year's blushing virgin. She tried - she really did - but still no matter how hard or how many times she gave it a go, blocking all conversations and continuing her reading was on that particular bus ride nothing but a lost cause. She gave up after reading the first paragraph for the fifth time without actually retaining anything. It was all just words, dates, and names that had no chance of competing with the never-ending chatter of her schoolmates.

But now, as she stood, amongst nothing but first years just like her, gathered in a side room to the Great Hall - the Waiting Room according to 'Hogwarts: A History' - she couldn't help but long to be back on the bus. Yes, she'd been stranded on that bus with second and third years and yes, even 'Hogwarts: A History' said third years were the worst, especially from a first years' point of view, but the noise level then had been nothing - NOTHING - compared to the absolute chaos that surrounded her now.

Here everybody was talking, all at the same time, as if to simply shut up and listen was an impossible feat. There was talk about that guy again - the one whose father was a teacher here at Hogwarts - and some talk about how Chemistry class should be a blast for at least a while with the awkward father/son reunion, but with all of them talking one over the other it was kind of hard to be sure that what she heard and what was said actually matched. Not that she cared all that much - gossip and especially this type of gossip wasn't her thing - but the noise and the insanity of it all were driving her mad.

 _I can't even hear myself think_ , she thought with a frown.

Her head was already killing her - the noise, the heat of too many bodies cramped into the small room, and the furious whispers doing their best in producing the world's worst headache.

Fortunately, the chaos in the Waiting Room was over before she knew it. There was a loud creaking noise as the door swung open and a tall, black-haired elderly woman, dressed in a light-grey trouser suit walked in, turning, as if through magic, the madness from just an instant before into complete and blissful silence. It probably was her appearance, which screamed its demand for respect or the towering figure she made while surveying the small room with stern eyes and a pair of thin lips set in a hard, straight line. But Hermione's first thoughts regarding the yet unknown woman - _probably one of the professors_ , she guessed - was first of all, that this was not someone anybody would want to mess with in any way and secondly, that she wanted to be just like her someday.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said the stern looking woman suddenly and Hermione - as well as others from the sound of things - couldn't stop the intake of breath she involuntary took at hearing such a warm and welcoming tone of voice coming from behind those stern and almost angry looking features. "I am Minerva McGonagall, Biomedicine and Genetics Professor, Head of Gryffindor House, and Deputy Headmistress.

"As you probably know by now, every new academic year at Hogwarts is opened by a start-of-term banquet, which will begin shortly. But, before you take your seats in the Great Hall amongst your older fellow students for a night of merriment and high quality cuisine, you will need to be sorted into your houses. The Sorting, about which I am sure you already know all there is to know, is a very important ceremony here at Hogwarts, one that distinguishes us from other universities, and one we take much pride in.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin, named after the school's founders. Each house has its own impressive and noble background, and each and every one of the four has produced outstanding alumni throughout our school's history. While you are at Hogwarts, your academic achievements will earn your house points, while any rule breaking will lose your house points. As you already know, Hogwarts demands of its students the highest levels of academics and discipline, so it should come as no surprise to learn that we advocate only academic progress and we tolerate nothing when it comes to indiscipline. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great, if symbolic, honour, which dates back all the way to the very beginning of Hogwarts.

"I hope each of you will be a credit into whichever house you are sorted. Now, if you would form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."

* * *

_****_

_**~SS~**_

When the darkness of the first Scottish autumn evening of the year finally came, it was to find Severus Snape, along with most of his colleagues - Minerva was out to get the first years - in the Great Hall, surrounded by chatter he had never paid attention to before and had never participated in, awaiting the first years to come in and be sorted. This time though, he couldn't not pay attention, not when almost everyone, from his colleagues at the high table to the last student at the farthest table on the other side of the room, was talking about him.

"-I tell you I heard he used to beat him-"

"-No, no… He cheated on her-"

"-I'd leave the bastard-"

"-…think he's anything like him?"

"-…better looking at least-"

"What did she see in him in the first place?"

"…should just stay away from him-"

"…hope the poor boy is nothing like him-"

He wanted to rage and yell that he should be left alone, that the boy - _Man_ , his inner voice offered, _he's a man now…_ \- should be left alone and that this, all of this business about his son's first year here at Hogwarts, was private and shouldn't be gossiped about, but he knew better. It was of no use. He could rage at them. He could shame them all with a few words for the indecency they were showing both him and his son. He could even take so many points that all houses, even his own, would be in the negatives until the end of time and still it would be of no use. They would stop talking for a while - he was certain he could secure a full free-gossip weekend with the right words sneered in the right company, they would even feel ashamed of their gossiping for an hour or two - some of them even longer; maybe the whole weekend if he was really nasty, but by the time classes started on Monday, they would simply start anew and he as well as the boy - _the man_ \- would once again be under their scrutiny.

So, in the end, he did nothing.

He listened carefully to every whispered bit of slander and said nothing. He raged on the inside, grinding his crooked teeth until he was left to wonder if he would even have teeth to grind after tonight and making fists with such force his knuckles where not only white but sore as hell. He let nothing show to the outside world. He stood rigid and tall; his imposing professor persona coming out for the first time since the end of the last school year, and prayed, as he had never prayed before, that the boy - _the man_ -, that his son was faring better than he was.

 _I'll know soon enough_ , was his last thought just before the large oak doors of the Great Hall opened and the group of excited - and at the same time terrified - first years came into the room.

Severus had to scan just a small portion of the group; they were walking in groups of two or three, lead into the Great Hall by Minerva before he found the angry eyes of his son staring him down. For a second he thought about offering the boy - _the man_ , _my son_ \- a smile; nothing much, just a small, reassuring one, just like he used to do years before when the boy - the man - was still just a happy little boy, but he dismissed the idea even before the smile started forming on his lips. He offered the boy - _my son_ \- a nod instead and then, without another direct look at those eyes so much like his own and yet so different, which right now hurt like hell to look at, turned away pretending to scan the rest of the first years.

He didn't see a thing beyond the blur of colour and shapes.

If asked, he would blame the nod instead of a smile on the professor persona he created for himself all those years ago, a persona that had to be maintained always and no matter the cost, a persona that had to not only demand respect but forcefully take it from each and every student, but the truth was that he was afraid. He was scared shiteless to greet his own son with a smile, because he knew; from the boy's - _my son's_ \- hurtful stare just then as well as all of their interactions until now; that nothing of the sort would ever be welcomed.

 _Not from you anyway_ , his inner voice added as he caught, with the corner of his eye, the boy - _my son_ \- smiling towards the other side of the high table, where Severus knew the boy's mentor and Hogwarts Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, was seated.

At that moment Severus hated Albus with all his heart.

* * *

_****_

_**~HG~**_

It was only a second after Professor McGonagall led them into the Great Hall - or at least it seemed like only a second to Hermione - that Headmaster Dumbledore rose, walked around the high table and stood before the group of excited first years. Taking a deep breath and offering the room at large a bright smile, the Headmaster started speaking, explaining - mostly unnecessarily, Hermione thought - some elements of Hogwarts history and the Sorting process.

"Our founding fathers were four of the most accomplished medical practitioners the world had ever seen. They were each the best of the best in their specialisations and as such, decided, almost a thousand years ago, that such knowledge needed to be spread to all willing and eager to learn.

"They started by taking on apprentices, young men and women not unlike yourselves, who wanted to learn all there was to learn about medicine, yet soon realised that the demand for apprenticeships was far greater than they expected. As such, Hogwarts School of Healing and Alchemy, in current times known as Hogwarts School of Medicine and Pharmacy was built. The founding fathers thus became the first Hogwarts Heads of Houses while their apprentices become the first teachers of what we are now proud to call our school.

"The Sorting ceremony which you are about to undergo is older than the school itself, dating back to almost a decade prior to its building when Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin took on their first apprentices.

"Just like those apprentices one thousand years ago, in the order you have entered the hall, you will step forward, walk to the centre of the dais and facing the faculty, you will state your name, schooling background, and reason for applying with our school. You will then wait in perfect silence for the faculty to make their decision. Once you have been sorted, you will go and sit at your house table amongst your new housemates and enjoy the rest of the proceedings."

With a pause, in which the first years shifted noisily until the groups of two or three turned into a single line, and with a smile the Headmaster raised his arms high into the air, announcing for all to hear: "Hogwarts Sorting Ceremony has now begun!"

From there on, everything was nothing but a blur to Hermione. Yes, she saw and heard as first year after first year walked out of the line, went up to the head table and said all that was expected of them, but for the life of her, she couldn't remember one word - not even one name - from all that was said. The only things she could concentrate on - the only things she was even remotely aware of - were her sweaty palms, the blood rushing violently in her ears, and the horrible images her mind continued to torment her with. In her mind - that twisted place that stored so much knowledge and just as much insecurity - she could already see herself walking out of the line, standing in front of the teachers, opening her mouth and saying absolutely nothing - or something so utterly stupid that the professors decided to send her back home.

It was a while until - practically snatched from her nightmarish imagination - she realised that there was no one else before her and that the rude - yet totally appropriate - awakening came from the red-headed freckled-faced girl behind her. It was her turn. She was next in line to be sorted and she was terrified.

Hermione's anxiety did nothing but grow as she stepped out of the line, offering the red-head a 'thank-you' nod. She was barely aware of herself as she walked up to the head table, and facing the sea of faces who would decide her fate, took her first breath since realising it was her turn in the Sorting ceremony. "Granger," she said, her voice wavering more than she was comfortable with yet less than she expected it. "Hermione Jean; graduate of Saint Joseph's School of Science, Chemistry class. My reason for applying was first and foremost that Hogwarts School of Alchemy and Medicine has always been a dream of mine, that and becoming a physician. It also has the most challenging honours programs that I know of and..."

She talked and talked, until the wavering was nowhere to be seen or heard anymore and the skittish Hermione disappeared, leaving in her stead the know-it-all, bossy Hermione that all of her former professors loved while all of her former classmates hated. She was back, ready to take on the world and each and every professor here at Hogwarts and it showed.

Before long though, a voice - the most velvety voice she had ever heard, one that made shivers run up and down her spine - interrupted. "That's enough, Miss Granger," said the black-haired professor at the end of the long table, his eyes burning a hole where they touched.

She felt silent almost before the dark-haired man - my professor - finished speaking. It wouldn't do to annoy anybody, especially a professor, before she was even sorted. So she waited. In the heaviest silence Hermione had ever heard she waited for the decision to be made and before long, before she was anywhere near ready to hear it, the verdict of her sorting was discussed, decided and made public.

Professor McGonagall offered a beaming smile - the complete opposite of the stern looking woman that the first years, Hermione included, meet in the Waiting Room what seemed like ages ago - and announced to Hermione and the hall at large: "You're one of mine Miss Granger - you're a GRYFFINDOR!"

* * *

_****_

_**~SS~**_

If looking into his son's eyes before the sorting had been difficult, doing the same now, as the boy _\- Man, Severus, he's not your little boy anymore!_ \- walked out of the line of first years and towards the head table, was nothing but the worst kind of hell. Those eyes - those eyes he used to stare into for hours when the man before him was only a child - held nothing but resentment.

His son hated him and nothing - NOTHING - could hurt Severus more than that look alone ever could.

Lowering his head and avoiding the malignity his son had for him in his beautiful eyes, Severus Snape, the feared Chemistry and Pharmacy Professor, crumbled onto himself like a pathetic, fearful child, showing - for the first time in over fifteen years - in front of students and faculty alike just how low he had actually sunk. Because no matter what the school gazette had published all those years ago and no matter what people had said ever since, he hadn't reached bottom until tonight, when for the first time in over a year, his son had looked at him, really looked at him, and instead of the adoration he used to see when the boy was only a child, or the contempt he saw all through the boy's adolescence, he saw the stare of a man to whom he wasn't a father anymore.

The boy turned man cleared his throat, took a second - probably to smile at those at the head table he could still offer a smile to; Severus wasn't brave enough anymore to lift his head and see - and without useless delay started speaking.

"Potter," his son said, and Severus could do nothing to stop the shiver that went down his back and through his limbs or the consequent shudder at the sound of a voice so different from that he had last heard over a year before he was sure he would have never recognised it. "Harry; graduated from University of Salford - Peel Park, Undergrad General Medicine and Pharmacy…"

He was sure the boy - _the man who used to be my son_ \- said more, probably just as much, if not more than any other student had, but he couldn't tell. He hadn't actually listened to a word the boy said. He knew and was proud of it all already, but more than that, more than anything really, he couldn't listen to that voice saying that name, knowing that as an adult - as a mature, rational adult - his son had forsaken his name for that of his stepfather.

No, Harry wasn't his son anymore - he hadn't been in years, not completely - but now it was all official. Harry Snape was gone and the man before the head table - the man waiting to be sorted into one of the four houses - was somebody else.

He was Harry Potter and as Minerva's voice drifted from somewhere beyond his thoughts Severus also knew the boy - _the man_ \- was also a bloody Gryffindor.


	2. Chapter Two — "Black Eyes"

****

**Chapter Two — "Black Eyes"

**

* * *

**__**

**_~HG~

_**

It must have been all the heavy eating she`d done at the start-of-term banquet, the abundance of whispered gossips that followed her ever since stepping foot in Hogsmeade earlier that evening, or simply the madness of the day, because that night, as Hermione`s head thrashed wildly from left to right and left again on her sweat-soaked pillow, she had the most curious dream.

She dreamed of black irises staring at her as if able to see right through her to the deepest end of her being; of black, soft sheets draped over what she knew to be her naked body; of whispered velvety voices caressing her with sounds that couldn`t have been words; of spidery-like, ghostly-white fingers peeling away black silk covers from creamy-white breasts; of touches that burned, chilled, and aroused; of feelings and sensations that scorched her inside-out.

As the dream came to an abrupt end, just as the sensations were reaching their peaks, Hermione woke with a jolt. Her body was still thrashing under wet sheets, her core pulsing violently from a release so powerful it seemed to quake her very soul, her lungs struggling to keep breathing, her legs rubbing together in sweet friction struggling to hold onto that incredible feeling. She was shaking, drenching pillow, sheets, covers, and nightclothes in cold and hot sweat, willing her heart to stop racing, though it was useless. Her heart raced like mad, her lungs burned with every forced breath she took, and her core throbbed painfully pleasurable, until the very last tendril of her climax subsided.

It was ages before Hermione came down from her high, with conscious thought slowly returning at the same time her breathing and heartbeat started to slow to a more normal pattern.

She was a right mess: hot and exhilarated from an orgasm as she had never before experienced, cold with sweat chilling her feverish body, slick and sticky between her legs, and so tired she could barely form a coherent thought, other than rolling over under the sheets, pulling the covers over her head, and going right back to sleep, that is. So without a second thought, about how cleaning herself and changing the sheets and nightclothes would be a good idea in this situation, Hermione simply rolled over, drew the blanket all the way over her head and went back to sleep.

She didn't dream again that night and by the time she woke up the following morning, much more exhausted than she`d expect to be after a full night`s sleep, every single piece of clothing around or on her body positively soaked, yet curiously sated and relaxed, she realised she had absolutely no recollection of anything that transpired the night before.

Oh, she could easily guess, make assumptions and whole scenarios about the things she'd done the night before; still she paid it no mind, deciding instead to just forget about it and take full advantage of her last free day before classes were scheduled to start and get acquainted, not to her housemates — as any other first year student would be doing — but to the five magnificent libraries Hogwarts had to offer. So without further delay — or even breakfast for that matter; books topped food every day of the week in Hermione's opinion — the first-year Gryffindor bookworm set off to explore Hogwarts`s wonders of the written word.

The first library she visited was the Main Library, down on main floor, right next to the Great Hall, where any one — students, professors and even visitors — had access to what seemed like every book ever written on the subject of medicine and pharmacy.

There were shelves upon rows upon shelves of books, with rows of study tables, armchairs, settees, and more chairs than she could count. It was by far the largest library Hermione had ever been in, and seeing as she was the biggest bookworm the south of England had ever seen, that was saying something. All around her she could see books that looked older than time itself and books so new Hermione could swear the ink had yet to start drying, and there were magazines, periodicals, journals and archives dating back all the way to the founders.

It was incredible. Every bookworm`s fantasy place and then some, and to Hermione, it was nothing less than the purest of heavens.

She barely managed to extricate herself from the multitude of tomes housed in the Main Library before deciding that she could skip lunch in the Great Hall in favour of a bag of Skips and some apple juice from the outdoor vendor and to visit the next library on her list. The Gryffindor Library, or Gryff`s Library as students called it, was, when compared to the Main Library, small and insignificant. Not that much bigger than the Great Hall, it had wall to wall bookshelves, each and every one of them bursting with books. Some of the tomes here looked so old she wondered if the paper they were written on wasn`t actually papyrus.

_It is papyrus_ , she discovered with a rush of pleasure as her fingers caressed the rough pages of some of the older books.

There were only a handful of study desks here, each with four to six chairs gathered around, a couple of settees settled on either side of a small, yet practical, coffee table, and two armchairs that stood tall and proud in front of the only piece of wall not covered with books: the hearth.

If the Main Library was all about practicality and academics, this library screamed comfort, intimacy, and relaxation. The room itself had no natural lighting, as opposed to the rooms in Gryffindor Dorm, the Great Hall or even the Main Library, and still it was warm — the warmest room at Hogwarts from what she`d seen so far at least — airy and bright — the direct result of electricity, good ventilation, and a ruby and gold colouring scheme.

She loved it here. The books, the warmth, the atmosphere — everything in his place called to her and she went, no questions asked.

So lost was she in her reading that it wasn't until two hours later that, roused from her reading by the giggling voices from just outside the library, Hermione realised just how late it was and setting `Mental Maladies: A Treatise on Insanity` by Jean Esquirol back on its shelve and giving the room a last, longing look she took off toward the old dungeons of Hogwarts where her next expedition into the world of books awaited her.

What she found down in the bowels of the castle was the darkest, gloomiest, and most sterile room she`d yet to see at Hogwarts: the Slytherin Library. Here emerald settees, chairs, and armchairs combined perfectly with stainless steel tables and shelves, and forest green ceiling and walls.

The room itself was not larger than the Gryffindor Library and certainly not very different in its arrangement of furniture and shelves, but while up in Gryff`s Library the brown, red, and gold colour scheme created the feeling of comfort and warmth, here everything had a cold and sinister air about it.

Not really Hermione's preferred ambient for reading, the Slytherin Library didn't distracted her for too long, before deciding to wrap it up for the day and head down to the Great Hall for yet another dose of getting acquainted — this time with living and breathing schoolmates. Oh, yes — and food.

So by the time she found her the way to the Great Hall, after going back and forth, left and right, up and down through the labyrinths that were Hogwarts`s corridors, dinner had already started and the room was filled almost to the point of overflowing with seven years of students and at least a third of the faculty. And they were so many of them…

She hadn`t really thought until now about how many young men and women were actually attending Hogwarts, though she had read about such statistics before in `Hogwarts: A History`; yet as she stood there, in the enormous doorway of the Great Hall, her eyes actually taking in the mass of students gathered around her — _You really weren`t paying attention last night, were you,_ her inner self reproached — she suddenly realised just how small a part of the whole student body at Hogwarts she truly was. There had to be at least a thousand students present, God only knew how many were absent, and the Great Hall was buzzing with activity, chatter, and cutlery sounds from hundreds and hundreds of students as she made her way into the room and toward the Gryffindor section. It was chaos and mayhem and for whatever reason Hermione loved it. Yes, she hated the madness from the Waiting Room and she definitely didn`t like the bluster from the bus ride, but this commotion, this wonderful insanity was something else entirely. This was contained and ordered and logical and she loved every second of it.

With that thought in mind, her head held high, and a small, barely noticeable smile on her face, Hermione took one last deep breath and, ready to face the world, her house and school mates, took a seat at the end of a half filled Gryffindor table and started filling up her plate.

The food was delicious, just like the night before, and she was already on her second helping of Yorkshire pudding with roast beef filling when one of the three students sitting at her table — _Or is it their table,_ she mussed as she washed down a fork-full of roast with a sip of Cider, _they WERE here before me_ — cleared his throat loud enough to get her attention.

"You`re from Saint Joseph`s, right?"

Hermione`s lips twitched as if to form a smile — silently savouring the first direct verbal contact with a student since some blonde second year bimbo asked her to trade places on the bus — took another small sip of her Cider, mostly to make sure her lips and throat were lubricated enough for speech and setting down her fork and glass, lifted her head and looked at the two young men and one young woman sitting across from her.

She knew them.

Actually `knew` was a much too strong of a word to use and a ridiculous exaggeration, but still, she did know them or of them depending on how one was to look at it.

The girl, the same first year that the other night had nudged Hermione out of her nightmarish thoughts just before her Sorting, had a long mane of flaming—red hair and the warmest brown eyes Hermione had ever seen. She seemed small — _She is small,_ she remembered noticing as she stood inches from the girl just the night before, _taller than me, but still… small —_ but well built, with shapely arms and torso, and from what Hermione remembered, a nice slender figure. She was, if Hermione`s memory served her right, Gineverva or Ginerva Weasley from Brighton and if her intuition was anything to go by, and it usually was right on the dot, a close relative of one of the two young men sitting next to her.

The first of the two boys, the one who Hermione would bet one year`s tuition was the girl`s kin, had shoulder length red hair, the exact same colour as the girl's, forget-me-not blue eyes and the worst case of freckles she ever saw — it almost looked like the poor guy had measles or some other condition along those lines — and if his kin seemed to be more on the petite side of things, or at least petite compared to him and the other guy sitting at their table, he on the other hand was tall and lanky, with broad shoulders and large hands.

_Probably an athlete_ , she thought, _and a well-built one at that._

He was older too. The attitude of superiority being her second clue, the `knowledgeable` advices he kept bestowing his two friends, the third, and the information, which actually was nothing more than school gossip, he seemed to have on all professors, the forth. The first clue had been the fact that on the bus the day before he sang `Good to be a second year` all the way from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts from just one row behind her — when he wasn`t too busy giving oral exams to the same blonde who asked her to change seats, that is.

_I bet he doesn`t know about the bimbo`s oral exam in the dungeons this afternoon, though,_ she thought just before realising it was none of her business and letting the matter drop.

So she turned her attention toward the third person sitting at their table and looked into the face of the guy who addressed her. He had shoulder length black hair, bright emerald-green eyes, and a warm, pleasant smile that seemed to bright up the room. She already knew a great many things about him. Sure, it was mostly rubbish, ridiculous rumours that no one in their right mind should, could or would believe, but even rubbish had to have a bit of truth to it and the talk around the school, the one she believed in anyway, was that he was Harry Potter, formerly Harry Snape, biological son of the renowned, yet feared Chemistry and Pharmacy Professor, Severus Snape, adopted son of world`s famous plastic surgeon and former Hogwarts professor, James Potter, and something of a young genius.

The part she didn`t quite believe was the abuse people gossiped about, the beatings and attempted murder, the whore versus saint stamp on Mrs Snape`s – or Potter - reputation and the horrible, horrible things they said about Professor Snape.

Sure, the man appeared to be a nasty piece of work, but he was a professor for crying out loud, he couldn`t be as bad as they said. No, she refused to believe it. Professor Snape was an educator and a damn good one if `Hogwarts: A History` was to be believed and a man who`s profession was shaping young minds and imparting knowledge couldn`t — wouldn`t — be guilty of the atrocities everybody seemed to think he was — at least not in her world he couldn`t — wouldn`t.

Then again, maybe he could, would and did all of those things and she was still too much of a naïve dreamer who hadn`t stopped putting people up on pedestals without knowing a single thing about them. It wouldn`t be the first time she`d done it. It wouldn`t even be the worst — Headmaster Fudge and her ineptitude to see beyond his façade still held that title, but try as she might, she couldn`t shake the felling she was right about this one. He seemed to be completely different from all the others she`d thought the world of, only to have her illusions crush and burn `till they were nothing but ashes.

_And why the hell does it matter_ , she snarled angrily at her thoughts.

It wasn`t like she was here to idolise the man. As if anybody really needed Professor Snape up on a pedestal — from what she heard, the man already had an overinflated ego. Hell, she didn`t even have to interact with him that much. All she needed and wanted was for the sullen man to impart his knowledge and experience with her and to grade her fairly — though from what Hogwarts`s rumour mill said, there was absolutely no chance in hell for fair when talking about grading. The man was notoriously unfair and thrived on students` misery when under-graded.

_Argh! Stop overanalysing you twit!_

The fact of the matter was Professor Snape didn`t actually matter. He could be God`s gift to humanity, the lowest scumbag and even the selfish—pervert—cheating—beating—murdering basted that everyone here seemed to think he was and it made no difference to her.

…or should make no difference.

And it would too, no difference at all, if only that nagging feeling that they were all wrong about him would stop popping up at every turn.

_Potter,_ her brain suddenly reminded her of the three people staring at her, still waiting for her answer.

She lifted the glass of Cider to her lips. Took a sip and said from behind the smoky rim, "Saint Joseph`s — right — four long years of Biology and Chemistry."

There was almost a full minute of silence, in which time Hermione sipped her drink a few more times and even contemplated going back to the delicious Yorkshire pudding in spite of how rude of a gesture that would be, while her three companions simply stared at her — _Was I silent for that long? —_ before the young man she knew to be Harry Potter smiled, picked up his fork and between shoving food in his mouth — her cue to start eating as well — and taking a gulp of his Cider started talking in relaxed and friendly tones.

"Me Salford, Peel Park — undergrad in General Medicine and Pharmacy — and by the way—" He shifted the fork from right to left and offered his hand over the table for Hermione to shake. "—I`m Harry Sna… I mean Potter — Harry Potter."

"Read Ian Fleming, much," laughed the girl — the young woman from beside him.

Hermione smiled at the jibe, completely ignoring the Snape versus Potter slip, shook Potter`s hand, "Hermione Granger—", and shifting her eyes to the other two occupants of the table — first the young woman and then her kin — added, "—nice to meet you!

"Yeah, you too… I`m Ginny Weasley," the young red-head girl said, trusting her hand over the table and shaking Hermione`s vigorously. Hermione was almost tempted to complement her on it, then thought better of it and stuck to a pleasant nice-to-know-you smile. "Ginerva actually, but everybody calls me Ginny — or Gin — whichever… And this—" Ginerva — Ginny — draped a hand over the other red-head`s shoulders, squeezing him lightly. "—is my brother, Ronald—"

"—Ron," the man in question supplied, beating Ginny`s arm away and blushing all the way to the tips of his ears, "Ron Weasley."

"Who`s apparently been reading Harry`s books," the red-head laughed and, as Hermione joined her, winked mischievously. "Anyway we`ve both been to Brighton College," Ginny went on, pointing at her brother and herself, "He was one year above me, studied Biology and—"

"—and `he` can also speak for himself," the red-head — Ron — growled.

Ginny turned, looked at her brother for a second, stuck her tongue out at him and then turned back to Hermione. "As I was saying — I studied Biology too, for two years and hated it, and then Chemistry for my final two years."

"You left out giving mum a heart attack when you transferred without anybody knowing a thing," said Ron.

"Yeah — well — not everybody's as perfect as Ickle Ronniekins," she sneered at her brother before focusing her attention back on Hermione. "If you haven't noticed, Hermione, my brother's also a major prat, but what can you do… You know what they say about brothers, right?"

"No, not really. I`m — I`m an only child."

"Really," frowned Ginny, the jealousy clear in her tone, though why would she be jealous Hermione couldn`t understand. She would give her right arm — okay, maybe just her left; the right she needed for notes and stuff — for a brother or sister.

_Nothing you can do about it, Granger,_ her inner self scolded her, _so stop obsessing_.

"Good for you," Ginny went on, her smile back in place and the jealousy all but gone from her voice, "I`m the last of seven—" She groaned.

"Seven?" Hermione gasped.

"Yeah — seven — and let me tell you, the `You can`t stand `em, can`t kill `em, and can`t get somebody else to do it for you` saying couldn`t be more true than in the Weasley household."

"Yeah — well — right back at you, sis," snarled Ron, "Through I`m still hopeful I`ll find somebody to do you in eventually."

"Keep on dreamin`, bro," the girl laughed, "plenty tried — and I'm still standin`."

The two red-heads growled at one another and Hermione took the opportunity to address Harry, who`d kept quiet after introducing himself and only smiled or laughed from time to time at Ron and Ginny`s antics.

"What about you Harry — any siblings?"

"Nah… Same as you," he answered twirling his fork to point in Ron`s direction. "Nancy-boy over here usually fills that spot in all but blood."

"Oi," Ron shrieked indignantly, his growling contest with Ginny all but forgotten as his sister started laughing. Hermione, herself, barely managed to keep her features straight with only a slight smile visible. "Who you callin` nancy-boy you — you — you—"

"Stud—" offered Harry with a shite-eating grin and an eyebrow waggle.

"Fag. You fag—"

"Love one."

"Oh, fuck you, Potter!"

"Anytime, any—"

"Cut it out you guys," interjected Ginny, "You`re both tossers and Hermione doesn`t want to hear this shite."

"You`re right, I don`t, but I don`t mind," said Hermione with a smile, "they`re fun."

"Well, I do mind and they`re not fun, they're idiots!" Ginny leaned over the table, shooting both boys murderous looks, which they took in stride even appearing remorseful, though their eyes still had the happy twinkle they had since their banter started, and smiled at Hermione. "They`ve been going at it since we left the Borrow — that's our house — and I can`t stand it much longer. Now, what`d you say to a quieter place and a cuppa?"

"Great idea," said Harry getting up, "Why the hell did I break up with you?"

"That`s my sis and her bloody fantastic plans," laughed Ron as he too got up from the table.

"Okay," said Hermione, taking a last sip of her Cider and getting up from the table.

"I broke up with you, Potter, and it`s girls only, right Hermione?" asked Ginny, completely ignoring her brother, his friend and their growls. "Romilda," she went on saying, "that`s my flatmate; she`ll be game for a glass or ten of somethin` and if you`d like, we can ask your flatmate to join."

"Oh — I don`t think Alicia… eh… She doesn`t do alcohol," said Hermione and after seeing Ginny`s frown added, "Her words, not mine. But yeah — sure, I`m in."

"Good," said Ginny and getting up too took Hermione by her arm and started to lead her away from the table and the two scolding males.

"Oi — that`s not fair, I wanna come too," shouted Ron, almost immediately followed by Harry`s, "Remember, if there`s any girl on girl action, I`m just one text away," as the girls walked out the Great Hall and toward Gryffindor Dorm. They didn`t talk all the way out the hall, but giggled as one or twenty heads — male heads all of them — jerk up to stare at them with an almost predatory look after Harry`s remark.

By the time they got to Ginny`s flat in Gryffindor Dorm it was almost two hours later. They had made three stops on the way — two to buy the liquor and snacks Ginny insisted were mandatory for a girl-talk-cuppa, and one to Hermione`s flat to try convincing Alicia to accompany them. Only two were successful though, as Alicia said `no` from the start and refused to even listen to their attempted persuasion.

So when midnight rolled in, it was to find three well and truly sloshed Gryffindors, spread over beds, floors and chairs, pouring their hearts out over shandies and crackers.

"Are ye bleedin' serious?" shrieked Romilda from where she was laying belly down and legs up on Ginny`s bed. She turned, her shandy sloshing dangerously, and looked at Ginny. "I can`t believe he did that. I mean — bleedin 'ell — that brother of ye`rs is either brave or dense. I can`t make up me mind whaich."

"My money's on dense," Ginny laughed, taking another mouth-full of ale, "It`s more his style."

"Or courageous," said Hermione, always ready to defend the underdog. "He needed guts to just go to her like that."

"Yeah — well — you say guts, I say stupidity," laughed Ginny. "And besides, you weren't there to see it. I'm amazed he didn't crap his trousers actually. The guy was terrified."

"Being brave means to overcome your fears not to not have any."

"Ooooh, somebody`s in luuuuve," squeaked Romilda.

"I am not—"

"You know what, Rom? I think she is."

"No, I`m not—"

"Love at first sight, ye tink?"

"Could be—"

"I. Am. Not. In love with your brother," Hermione shot back darkly, though by that point in the conversation neither of the other two girls was listening to her.

"We shud set dees two up—"

"Can`t, he`s still dating Lavender—"

"Den we shud break'em up—"

"Yeah, right," said Ginny, "If mum couldn`t do it, we`ve got no chance in hell and besides, the bint cheats on his sorry arse once a day and twice on Sundays, he knows about it and still he `luuuves her`. It`s disgusting really."

"Yisser brah'der shud leave 'er —"

"Could — should — not gonna happen. Trust me, everybody tried yakking sense into him — me, Harry, mum, everybody. He doesn`t listen or doesn`t care."

"That`s why 'Ermione`s perfect for 'im. She cud make 'im listen. She cud make 'im leave de wagon an' den, ye nu, git together. Roi, 'Ermione?"

"Oh, no you don`t," shrieked Hermione, making as if to get up the floor and then deciding against it. The floor was better — it didn`t move when she was still attached to it with more than just the soles of her shoes. "Leave me out of this. It`s his life, his girlfriend, and his problems. And besides, I`m NOT interested in Ron bloody Weasley – no offence. Gin."

"None taken — but why not?" Ginny asked, "What`s wrong with him? Again, no offence taken, but I need to know, you know, reference for future hook ups and stuff."

Hermione took another sip of her drink, grabbed a couple of crackers from the bowl next to her and thought. What WAS wrong with him? Nothing really — well, except maybe for him already having a girlfriend and being a little immature from what Ginny said. But hey, he was young, she was young, they were all young and she wasn`t really that mature either, so no problem there.

_You don`t know him,_ her inner mind supplied and she had to admit it was true. She knew nothing about Ronald Weasley — well, except for what Ginny had told them, but that was nowhere near enough. She could spend more time with him — get to know him—

_Oi, dumbbell, you`re here for learning not romance — and if you`re even considering romance with Ronald Weasley after meeting him just hours ago you`re also way too plastered to be doing any kind of considering anyway. Go home, Granger. Classes start tomorrow and the last thing you need is a hangover on your first day. Go to bed._

And on that drunken, yet completely logical and rational note, Hermione struggled and managed to get up, ignoring the floor tilting, the head spinning, and the headache, said her good byes and went home. God knows how she managed it, but she did, and that night as she lay in bed, sleeping the sleep of the dead — drunken dead — she dreamed of soft-brown, bright-blue, and emerald-green eyes, of pleasant smiles; of deep rich laughter and drunken singing. And just as the night`s dream came to a close, the images shifted, and for no more than one second, she dreamed of deep pitch-black eyes gazing into her very soul.

She smiled, rolled over and soon her sleep was filled with dreams of books, family and friends, and when she finally woke up the following day she could remember everything about her dreams — everything, except the pitch-black eyes.


End file.
